


Stupid

by blythechild



Series: Hurt/Comfort Bingo [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Intervention, Mistakes, Misunderstandings, Road Trips, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid gets irrationally angry whenever Prentiss refers to herself as 'stupid', and it's starting to get old.</p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal entertainment. This story is suitable for readers 14 and up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created in response to a reader prompt which is terribly spoilery for this fic, so I'm not going to tell you what it is. Trust me, the whole story's built around it - you'll spot it when you read it. It also fills one of my hurt/comfort bingo prompts: learning to be loved.

“Alright, Reid, I get it. There’s no need to highlight how stupid I am to everyone.”

She says it with a smile on her face because she’s kidding with him, but the look he gives her across the conference room table with his hand distractedly pointing to a connection on the white board behind him is almost lethal. Everyone chuckles, happy to have a moment of levity in the case’s gloom to cling to, as his eyebrows lower and shadow his eyes. He won’t laugh - he won’t even fake it for the sake of appearances - and she wonders why he’s angry.

Then, just like that, the look passes and he launches back into the half-completed geoprofile that he was delivering.

\----

“It didn’t have to end that way.” She’s slurring against the rim of her glass. She should stop drinking immediately - she’s out of practice. Too many cases back to back and not enough down time to regain her equilibrium. 

“C’mon now, P.” Morgan leans against her shoulder softly until she looks at him. “You don’t second guess that instantaneous tactical shit. You _know_ that.”

“I don’t really understand what happened, Emily, but I’m sure that you did all you could, honey.” Garcia chirps from behind her pink concoction with its tiny umbrella. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears and it makes Prentiss’s heart a little lighter that Garcia has such absolute faith in her goodness. They should all really stop drinking now - this little get-together was running the risk of entering maudlin ‘I love you, man’ territory.

“I want to believe that.” She looks around the table and sees matching glances of ‘been-there-done-that’ on the faces of her friends. “I just… I dunno. I feel that if I had been faster - smarter maybe - I could have saved him and had one less life on my conscience. I just feel stupid that I didn’t read the situation better…”

The table becomes a chorus of nay saying mumbles and she risks a quick upward glance to see the sympathetic faces surrounding the booth at their favorite watering hole. Maybe she said it selfishly to get a little positive re-enforcement from her team, but the reassurance that she was hoping for burns away when she meets Reid’s critical stare from behind his glass of port.

“That’s crap, and you know it.” He says crisply above the others and it silences the table.

“Spence…” J.J. chides as Morgan’s eyebrows crease and shoot him a ‘what gives?’ glance across the banquette.

He gets up from his seat - a little wobbly, she notes - and drops some money on the table. “Don’t fool yourself. You’re better than this, Prentiss.”

The others watch him weave through the crowd in silence, but to her, his exit feels like a slap in the face. She doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve it, and she wants to be angry that he can judge her so harshly without giving her a reason, but all she can manage is to breathe through the sickly twist that her stomach’s doing at the moment. The words ‘what did I do?’ are on her tongue but she swallows them back with a sip of her martini; she doesn’t want to admit to the others that despite being a profiler, she really can’t read her best friend.

\----

Her head is pounding and it’s Monday and they probably have a new file of depravity to marinate in and she’s up for a little murder herself after the shit that Mick pulled on Saturday night. That’s _it_ \- she’s done with arrogant, self-loving, sex-on-a-stick types from now on. Especially ones who cannot resist flirting with anything possessing a pulse - disrespect isn’t sexy, and he wasn’t a good enough lay to let the behavior slide. Garcia’s relationship sixth sense kicks in the instant that she enters the staff kitchen and Prentiss is forced to reveal the whole sordid story before the tech wizard somehow gleans it from her roomful of computers. Reid wanders in at the tail end of the litany of woe and though he pretends that he’s not paying attention, she feels ashamed that he’ll witness the absolute failure of her latest attempt to be ‘normal’.

“I’m gonna go and ruin his credit _right now_ , sweetie. Maybe put him on a watch list or two.” Garcia is almost growling. It is simultaneously frightening and hilarious. “Don’t tell Hotch…”

“Don’t do that, Garcia.” She offers up a lopsided smile and pops an Advil with her first gulp of morning coffee. She rubs her temple and spies Reid giving her a concerned look.

“Let me know if you need something stronger.” He offers meekly and she sighs a little when she realizes that he’s just _worried_ , not angry or judgmental. 

She’s given up trying to predict how he’ll respond to the things that she does, but she knows he wasn’t happy about her dating Mick in the first place. He was on the money with that one and for the first time in months, she wishes that he had objected more vocally.

“Thanks.” She murmurs and the smile he gives her makes her Monday slightly less miserable.

Garcia starts in again about the digital havoc that she’s going to reap in Mick Rawson’s life before lunch and Prentiss just rolls her eyes at Reid and watches him mix cream into his coffee as if these conversations happen every Monday morning in this office. Finally, when Garcia’s purple-painted fingertips start flailing wildly enough to put them all at risk of coffee stains, Prentiss speaks up.

“Honestly, Garcia, this was my fault. He was a player and he made no bones about it. I was just too dumb to take him at face value.”

“Sweetie, don’t-”

“This again? _Really?_ ” Reid’s expression has completely changed. Gone is the sympathy and shy support that he offered moments before, replaced by an irritation that borders on malevolence. He dismisses them both with a wave of his hand and marches out of the kitchen. “I have no interest in the outcome of this conversation.”

She is stunned by how bare his insult makes her feel. He’s stripped her with one sentence and left her breathless and shaking with shame. She wonders if he even has any idea that he hurt her so much. It’s just ridiculous how deeply he can wound her.

“What has gotten into him?” Garcia mumbles. “He’s been acting strange lately.”

“How can you tell?” Prentiss is impressed that she manages to say anything, let alone make it sound normal.

“Come on, Emily. You know him better than anyone here. Are you telling me that you didn’t find that out of character for Doctor Babyface?”

She did. And it was surprisingly hurtful, but that was all on her. She would have to find a way to ease this _whatever it was_ between them, and she knew that she could, eventually. After that, she would try and figure out why his opinion seemed to weigh more than it used to.

\----

Their collective blood alcohol level is spectacularly high. The girls are very good at getting their drink on, but even by previous standards, they have reached a new plateau of inebriation this evening. But that’s what Vegas is for, right - killing off brain cells and good intentions? God knows that they could all stand to loosen up a lot more. Nothing makes that easier than booze, Garcia muses. Looking over her friends, J.J. appears flushed and sparkly while Prentiss is looking a little green. But Reid just seems sort of fluid and content all over. She smiles at him woozily as he lies akimbo across the hotel couch.

“Yer a brave one, Daddy Longlegs…”

He is squinting but manages to open one eye a little wider as he raises his head from the cushions and cocks a drowsy eyebrow at her.

“None of the other guys d-” Garcia hiccups and decides that gravity is dangerous and so drops down next to him before continuing. “Dare come out with us.”

“You have reputations.” He slurs as he smiles. “Esp-esp-…. When you are in Vegas.”

“So, why do _you_ come?” J.J. is fighting her drunk, which always makes its effects worse.

“It’s my town. Gotta protect my ladies…”

J.J. and Garcia make ‘awww’ and kissy noises at him that he waves off half-heartedly.

“Gentleman Reid squires the womenfolk safely from the terrors of drink and strangers…” Prentiss raises her glass in a mock toast and doesn’t seem to notice that she spills half of it on her in the process.

“Hardly.” Reid closes his eyes and appears to become one with the couch. “You’re all armed.”

“I’m not.” Garcia raises her hand.

“You’re armed with b-bad ideas.” Reid seems to hold his breath for a minute and then decides that he’s okay to continue. “It was your idea to do a shot for e-every hand of poker that I w-won…”

“Who knew that y-you’d keep winning after _t-that many_ shots?” Garcia isn’t going to shoulder the blame for tomorrow’s hangovers alone.

“Genius, Penelope…” Prentiss blurts and Reid opens one eye to look at her. She pantomimes an ‘oops’ look and then leans across the coffee table conspiratorially. “No off-offense, Doctor… yer both geniuses.”

She is smiling like she just told the most hilarious story in all of human history and everyone starts laughing at the ridiculous look she’s sporting. Garcia watches her weave as she leans further forward, towards Reid, and thinks that she sees something that her addled brain tells her isn’t possible. This thought is quickly followed by the hope that her friend doesn’t suddenly faceplant into the suite’s glass coffee table. That would be awkward.

“Sit back.” Reid is smiling when he says it so it seems less like a command and more like a suggestion.

“Why?”

He cocks his head slightly and it produces a giggle from Prentiss. “Because you’re ab-about two minutes away from e-either passing out or puking.”

J.J. leans back in her chair and hoots. “Spence said ‘puke’!”

Garcia starts laughing so hard that she’s glad she’s sitting down. She is getting lightheaded. Prentiss starts laughing too but then suddenly stops as her shade of green turns alarmingly pale.

“Stomach acid…” Reid laughs and points.

“Shit…” Prentiss gulps and then lurches to her feet and stumbles in the direction of the hotel room’s master bath.

“Oops, my math was off…” Reid mumbles and lolls his head against the couch cushions to give J.J. a puppy dog look. “Maybe you sh-should go and hold her hair back… I’d do it b-but my legs don’t seem to be working at the moment…”

Everyone still has the giggles as retching sounds emanate from the bathroom. J.J. gets to her feet and weaves after Prentiss. She mumbles ‘smartass’ over her shoulder as she goes.

“This isn’t funny.” Garcia tries to remind them as they continue to chuckle.

“No… well, yes, it is a l-little.” Reid tries to get himself under control. “Alcohol lowers inhibitions which su-su-supresses learned conditioning impulses like c-consideration. It also increases dopamine release, which can cause euphoria. It’s t-technically one of only two things that the brain en-enjoys. So we’re giggly - it’s mostly the brain’s fault and j-just a little bit Emily’s.”

Garcia squints in Reid’s general direction. “How can you be drunk off yer tiny heiny and _still_ be so smart?”

Reid closes his eyes and waves his long hands over the length of him with drama. “I can’t switch this off.”

J.J. stumbles back into the living room as the retching continues. “She’ll be fine once she turns her stomach inside out. She’s busy calling herself stupid between bows to the porcelain god…”

“Oh my God, that again?” Reid yells from the couch with his eyes closed. “Enough already, Emily!”

Garcia pokes him hard but he only winces and waves a blind hand at her before letting it fall to the couch. “Sympathy, Reid!”

“Hate it when she does that…” His voice trails off as if he’s about to pass out.

“When she does what?” J.J. asks.

“Says she’s stupid.” Reid rolls himself into a ball of curled limbs and nuzzles into the couch cushions like a bear preparing for hibernation. When he finds the right spot he sighs loudly and then mumbles one last thing as his whole body goes lax. “If she were s-stupid, she’d make my d-dick go limp.”

Garcia looks over at J.J. to make sure that she didn’t just have an alcohol-fueled hallucination. J.J. is staring at unconscious Reid with an open-mouthed look of disbelief. Garcia suddenly feels a hell of a lot soberer.

“Did I just hear that correctly?”

J.J. looks back at Garcia. “Can’t be. Can it?”

“It sure explains some things…”

The sound of retching continues and Garcia rolls her eyes - _what a mess these two are!_

“Sweetie, go look after Princess Puke in there, and tomorrow morning you and I will have a breakfast meeting to hatch a plan about all of this.”

Garcia waves her hands in magical circles as J.J. nods and gives her a sloppy wink. Drinking makes you messy - not a liar - so she doesn’t feel she needs any more justification for meddling with her baby chicks when they can’t seem to manage well enough on their own.

\----

All four of them look like they’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards on the flight back to D.C. Prentiss can’t even remember how she ended up on the hotel room couch next to Reid with an uncomfortably familiar taste of her digestive system in her mouth. She hopes that she didn’t throw up on him - good friend or not, that’s a memory that’s hard to get past especially for a guy who can’t forget anything. Garcia assures her that she didn’t but Prentiss doesn’t trust her; Garcia put them up to this in the first place and she’s been acting shifty ever since breakfast. They had this strange conversation about personal perceptions and misunderstandings over greasy eggs and toast that Prentiss had mostly missed as she attempted to control her gag reflex. It was probably important because even now her friend is shooting her meaningful looks across the rims of her sunglasses.

“Penelope,” She winces as she rolls her head to look at Garcia who’s in the insanely bright window seat. “This morning in the diner… what was that about? Don’t tell me that you were admitting to some ‘missed connection’ encounter on craigslist or something…”

Garcia rolls her eyes. “Jesus, honey. Take off your glasses.”

“What?” Prentiss feels very protective of her sunglasses right now.

“The rose-coloured ones you’re wearing that are convincing you that you aren’t seeing what’s right in front of you.”

With that, Garcia sighs and then gets up and bustles out into the central aisle. She walks up two rows to where Reid and J.J. are and starts gesturing. Reid slowly gets to his feet and gives up his place, wobbling back to Prentiss’s aisle and sinking into the window seat.

“Hey.” He waves and then slams the window shield down definitively. 

“Hi. Garcia wanted to trade seats?” She asks redundantly and he nods as he adjusts his Ray-Bans. “That violates F.A.A. law…”

Reid raises three fingers. “Genius. Hungover. FBI agent. I think the flight crew will let it slide this time.”

She chuckles quietly even though her stomach protests. She considers the possibility that she may have thrown up on him - he’s been a little standoffish this morning. “Hey, did I… umm, _do_ anything to you last night?”

His whole body goes tense and he sits up to look back at her. Just the idea of making her body move that quickly has induced nausea in her, and now she’s really worried about what she did.

“No… umm, like what exactly?”

“Well,” She takes off her glasses so that he can see how apologetic she is. “I… I think that I might have thrown up. On you. I don’t really remember, so if I did, I’m terribly sorry. And then to fall asleep next to you… some boozy, barfy broad, well… I’ve been classier, that’s all I’m saying.”

He slides off his glasses and pitches his voice lower as if they are alone somewhere and not on a crowded, commercial flight full of cranky babies and cheap sales reps.

“You didn’t throw up on me, Emily. You were quite boozy, but so was I. I… I didn’t mind. Really. Garcia and J.J. tried to get you into one of the bedrooms, but you wanted to be on the couch.”

“With you.” She breathes and then wonders where that came from. Reid’s cheeks go a little pink as he drops his gaze, and then she feels herself begin to flush. What the hell was going on with her? What happened last night?

“So, umm, nothing else happened?” She feels as though she’s only getting half the story and everyone knows it but her.

“Nothing.” He turns away from her and slouches into his seat. His arm brushes hers on the seat divider between them and she marvels that he doesn’t twitch when it happens. She feels his warmth through his shirtsleeve and finds herself leaning into it without thinking. She expects him to move but he doesn’t; he holds his ground as she lets her right arm and shoulder rest against him, and then, eventually, risks dropping her head to his shoulder.

“You okay?” His voice is quiet and he asks without turning.

“I’ll be fine.” She mumbles as she closes her eyes. “But I’m thinking of swearing off alcohol for good.”

His shoulder moves under her as he laughs. “You shouldn’t make statements like that to a person with a perfect memory. It might come back to haunt you.”

She hums a little at his comment but her hungover body is gratefully sinking into the sleep that it craves. Not even the sensation of his head eventually leaning against hers can rouse her.

\----

Okay, something was really up with him. He’d been different ever since their trip to Vegas and now he’d just had some sort of blow-out with J.J. that left her looking as if she’d be happy to strangle him. They both storm out of the conference room and head in opposite directions with matching looks of fury. J.J. brushes past Prentiss without looking up.

“J.J.” Prentiss mumbles. “What’s going on?”

J.J. turns and stabs a finger in the direction of Reid’s retreating figure. “Spence is just like every other jerk on the planet - ya know that? I love him like the brother I never had but, honest to God, I just want to bounce him off of every wall in this building right now!”

“I know that he can be difficult at times-”

“Difficult? _Difficult?_ Try impossible. I think that he’s been told that he’s brilliant one too many times, so that now, when his brain settles on something, he won’t even _entertain_ the idea that he could be mistaken…”

“C’mon, J.J., that’s not fair…”

“Jesus! You’re just as bad - what a pair you two make!”

Prentiss’s back straightens on reflex. She loves J.J. dearly but she isn’t about to become a surrogate outlet for the woman’s frustration - not without some more details, at any rate. “What does _that_ mean?”

“You know what?” J.J. leans towards her but continues pointing in the direction of Reid’s exit. “Go ask Doctor Know-It-All what it means. You two are grown adults - figure it out.”

J.J. storms toward her office without a backwards glance leaving Prentiss thrumming with curiosity and pique that makes her skin prickle all over. J.J. isn’t terribly secretive - private, yes, but not secretive - nor is she prone to angry outbursts, so this had to be something important. It seems clear that J.J. is _done_ talking about it, whatever it is, so Prentiss decides to try her luck with the only other person who seems to know what the hell is going on. Though given his mood swings over the last several months, Prentiss isn’t holding her breath that she’ll get any more information out of him.

She knows exactly where he’s hiding, and that he’d probably resent the term ‘hiding’. No one goes to record storage except him and the filing clerks from Administration & Oversight. He says that he goes there when he needs space to think, but she suspects that he goes there to escape people. He has his limits with people…

“Hey.” Her voice sounds like a canon in the room, bouncing off the windowless cinderblock walls and ancient filing cabinets.

He’s turned away from the door and when he hears her voice, his shoulders bunch as if he’s been hit with a switch. “Go away, Prentiss. I’m not… I don’t want any company at the moment. It has nothing to do with you.”

“That’s bullshit.” She says it calmly and he turns to face her because her tone and her words are probably confusing. She knows that confusion is a pretty effective leverage point with him. “When I run into two enraged friends in under five minutes it sorta _involves_ me whether it’s meant to or not. That’s slightly more resentment than I’m accustomed to for an average Tuesday.”

She walks further into the room but he stands his ground, refusing to come to her. _Fine, have it your way._ “Listen, J.J. wouldn’t tell me what this was about, but I’m assuming that’s her way of forcing me to intervene…”

Reid makes an ugly, derisive noise. “She likes meddling - she and Garcia…”

“Hey,” Prentiss frowns and aggressively closes the distance between them until they are only six feet apart. “J.J. and Garcia love you like family. Don’t dismiss that as if it’s tiresome or annoying - they deserve more respect than that and you know it. It’s one thing to run hot and cold with me - I can absorb the shock of it, I can handle how much it hurts - but they _can’t_. You have to be more careful, Spencer.”

The tension in his body eases a little as his expression melts into something akin to alarm. “Running hot and cold?”

“C’mon, you know what I’m talking about. One minute you’re my gentle, smart, incredible friend and the next you’re this brutally angry, sharp-edged guy that I’ve never seen before. It’s been going on for months and I’ve come to the point where I honestly don’t know which version of Reid I’m going to meet in the office each day. Maybe I’m just too dull to figure it out, but I’d say that if you’re pulling the same stunt on Garcia and J.J. that you’d better start articulating your reasoning because we _all_ can’t be that stupid.”

He moves so quickly that Prentiss has to stifle a meep of surprise when he’s suddenly in front of her, holding her arms fiercely and looking as if he wants to snap her in two. “You’re not stupid! Christ, why can’t you- … just stop saying that! Makes me so angry…”

She holds her breath for a second and watches him shake all over as he loses control and then struggles to regain it again. She’s never seen him like this and all of a sudden she’s thinking about nightmare scenarios of him and the onset of schizophrenia or an addiction relapse or something entirely new and horrifying. As she looks on, he takes a few deep breaths and then loosens up his grip on her arms, rubbing away the sting of his thoughtlessness with his thumbs and averted eyes. The whole moment becomes this lump of pain in her that she can’t swallow around, can’t shunt off to the side, and she realizes that she’s terrified for him.

“Reid,” Her voice breaks and she clears her throat to start again. “Just talk to me. _Please._ Tell me what this is about - you’ve got me really worried.”

He lets his hands fall and backs away a few steps. She feels the heat of where he’s gripped her start to fade and instinctively wants it back again, even if he leaves bruises. He looks down at his feet - to a new set of brogues, she notices, with a lovely aged patina to the leather - and rocks self-consciously. All of a sudden, he’s the friend that she knows and trusts again.

“We’re friends, right?” She whispers.

He nods but won’t look at her. “Friends… yeah, friends.”

“Then tell me why you’re so angry.”

He makes this complicated shrug that reminds her of unfolding an intricate piece of origami and, not for the first time, she questions how she can consider him one of the most important people in her life and yet still not understand much about him.

“J.J. confronted me about something I allegedly said in Vegas.”

Well, that explains part of the hostility: Reid doesn’t like being cornered. Prentiss’s mind whispers that J.J. knows this, so, was it purposeful on her part?

“‘Allegedly’?”

“Apparently, I said it that night that we all got drunk. She claims that both she and Garcia heard it. I don’t remember saying it though.”

Prentiss waits for the other shoe to drop. She has no memory of that night either so she hasn’t got a clue what this might be about. Reid’s eyes flick up from his shoes for a moment, then he loses confidence and they return to contemplate the intricate pattern of dimples across his toes. He takes a huge breath, as if he’s about to do a deep dive or something.

“ _Apparently_ , I got angry that you were calling yourself stupid again and I let it slip why this bothers me so much.”

She waits a beat and then can’t stand it anymore. “And?”

“And… it bothers me because women are sociologically conditioned to denigrate their intelligence often and publicly in order to appear more acceptable. No one questions it - not even most women. And to hear you do it, casually… without thought… well, you are emphatically not stupid. Not even close. Your intellect is fierce and keen…” He stops in mid-thought, as if he’s been carried away, and then takes another breath and begins worrying his hands in front of him. “And… because if you _were_ stupid… I wouldn’t be so attracted to you.”

The room becomes remarkably quiet in the aftermath of his statement. When she finally finds the words to speak, she scares herself a little with the sound of them.

“You _said_ that?”

“Allegedly. According to both J.J. and Garcia, my original wording was more… vulgar. But that’s the gist of it.”

“So… you’re angry at them…”

“Because they’ve been pressuring me to say something to you about it. They felt that you ought to know.”

“And you’ve been angry with me all of these months because I kept calling myself ‘stupid’?”

“Yes. It really does bother me, but I should’ve been upfront about it instead of making you guess at what was going on. I apologize for hurting you - it was unconsciously done. My temper is… unruly, though that doesn’t really excuse my behavior. I was careless… and you’re right: I ought to know better.”

His face is shadowed but she can see that it’s rosier than it should be, and he’s threading his fingers into some sort of Gordian knot, but he still won’t look at her. There’s one aspect to this that he hasn’t addressed yet, and considering his physical anxiety, she guesses that he’s not going to do it voluntarily. The panicked lump in her throat has vanished - _thank God he’s not sick or compromised or fallen off the wagon_ \- replaced with this irregular fluttering just under the surface of her, like millions of tiny wings beating at her edges desperate to burst through into the open air.

_Fuck. We’re both just a breath away from being out of control. Where did this come from? How did we not recognize it?_

She recalls the dozens of times that they’ve curled up together like exhausted cats - in police precincts, in crappy diners, on the jet. She remembers the numberless trips to the Smithsonian, book fairs, impromptu Georgetown psychology lectures, and Doctor Who conventions. She thinks about their movie marathons and arguments over comic books and paraphilias. There’s the crossword puzzles and magic tricks, the miraculous chocolate that shows up on her desk when she needs it, his dreadful taste in music and fantastic taste in horror films. There’s the practical jokes and the subtle sarcasm that often goes unnoticed, and there’s the information dumps that leave her grinning and wondering if there’s _anything_ that he’s not curious about.

She looks at his blushing face and sees the man who comments on everything but has never once mentioned her personal life, the man that she thought about before and after every date that she’s been on in the last three years, the man that she is inexplicably afraid of making jealous - as though he has more right to her than the men to whom she gives her body. The _man_ , not the boy that she’d first met years before…

The fluttering wing beats have become so loud that she can’t believe that he doesn’t hear them as well.

“Spencer,” It seems wrong to refer to him by his surname now. “ _Is_ the reason for your anger towards me because you are attracted to me?”

He’s still looking at his shoes and he begins rocking a little. If he wrings his hands any tighter, he might break a finger. She walks forward silently and stops just in front of him; the tips of her heels almost touch the toes of his brogues, and she knows that he notices.

“Look at me.”

He does, though he looks as if he’ll explode from the effort.

“Tell me.”

“I want you. Very, very much. I’m sorry, Emily… I wish that I-I was better at this…” He seems to find his breath just as she loses hers. Maybe it’s her expression of complete surprise that moves him, or maybe the realization of their history together sudden writes itself across her face, but whatever it is, it helps him find his courage. He steps forward, just a half step, as his body wins a small victory over his mind and he reaches for her, shaking and wide-eyed.

She feels his hand curve around her hip, fingers resting lightly; ready to let go at a moment’s notice. His face dips in, as close as he can get without touching her, and she closes her eyes and waits drinking in the warmth of his proximity. She doesn’t expect that: her body just _goes_ with the moment and her brain doesn’t say a damned thing about it. It’s the nearest that they’ve ever been to each other and, somehow, being this close and not going any further feels more intimate than a kiss. This is purposeful on his part, she realizes - he’s not being carried away by hormones and hedonism. At this range, they have to see one another; they have to know what they are doing.

“This is probably a bad idea.” His breath brushes her lips.

Her eyes flick open, focus on his as he looks at her with an understanding that she doesn’t anticipate. “Probably.” Her nose touches his almost imperceptibly but she makes sure that their lips sweep together when she speaks. “Do you want to stop this?”

“No.” His hand trembles against her hip. “But is this something you really want for yourself? You’re not just taking pity on the lonely nerd…”

Something white hot flashes through her and she takes his lower lip between hers before she can stop to think about it. “Now you’re making me angry… I have never pitied you.”

He freezes against her for a second, and then his hand tightens against her hip and she feels his fingertips skim the edge of her jaw. He’s still barely touching her, but wherever they meet, the warmth tickles and radiates out from those points and drives the fluttering wings into a frenzy. She draws on his lip, slowly but without ambiguity, and his breath catches. He opens his mouth and she slots herself in like a puzzle piece. He’s soft against her lips in no hurry to move on, and she finds herself sinking into the gentle slip and caress of discovering how this very basic act works between them. There seem to be a lot of different ways to try this and he wants to test them all. The heat from where they connect is rippling over her, rising up her neck and blooming across her face. She’s probably blushing like a schoolgirl, she thinks with a twinge of embarrassment. His fingers move from her jaw past her ear and into her hair as he pulls her closer. She tilts her head to feel the pressure of his hand and suddenly his grip tightens, his tongue edges the crest of her lip and she sighs into him in a way that says _yes_. She can’t remember when she last put this much time into learning how to kiss someone… 

He pulls away gently, just enough to break the kiss, but still close enough to brush his lips with hers. He seems very determined to stay as close as he can.

“Okay,” His breath is a little unsteady. “You seem sure about this…”

She laughs into his cheek where his grin has produced a sharp line. “Best ending to a ridiculous argument ever.”

“Ending? I hope that we’re just beginning…”

“Don’t be obtuse.” She lets her lips silence him. This slow kissing thing has really taken hold of her. “You’re going to have to try and be less literal if this is going to work.”

He smiles and lets her do what she wants with him. “Wow. I think that you just called _me_ stupid.”

“We both are.” She slips her tongue against his and gets a deep moan for her efforts as his hands tighten around her. “We could’ve had this ages ago, Spencer… if only either one of us had said something…”

“Really?” He pulls away, breathless and pulsing with intent, seemingly floored by her suggestion.

“Do you suppose that we get along so well by accident?” She’s not certain that this could have happened years earlier, but in this moment with his warmth encircling her, she’s willing to indulge in reckless optimism. 

“Men and women can be friends without romantic or sexual motivations.”

“Yes, they can.” She kisses him. “And we are.” Another kiss. “But there’s more too. They say the best relationships are based on a foundation of friendship.” She skims her lips across his jaw and down his neck.

“Can you cite your sources?” His voice is a little lower than normal and she can feel his pulse stutter against her lips at his throat.

“My entire adult dating history is proof that you need more than physical attraction to make something last.”

“That’s not exactly objective. Or encouraging.” He’s breathing erratically while trying to be smart and it makes her want to laugh until she’s hoarse.

“Being too literal again. But… okay… J.J. and Will. That’s my proof.”

“Hmmm…”

“Satisfied?”

“Not remotely.” He gives her a look that she swears she’s never seen on him before, and she’s suddenly aching to prove her theory to his ‘satisfaction’. “But I’ll reserve judgment until the preliminary data from this endeavor comes in.”

Her hand drifts up and cups the side of his face: the sharp-edged jaw, the high cheekbone, the little hollow made by his pronounced zygomatic muscles. He watches her intently and she realizes that he’s always watched her with the utmost focus.

_Jesus, it was so obvious. All I had to do was look…_

“Spencer.” She murmurs.

“Emily.” He smiles at her - wide and genuine - but she still feels the tension underneath. She supposes it’ll take time to convince him that she means it, that it’s not _actually_ an experiment. “What is it?”

She smiles back and feels heat rushing to her cheeks once more. It’s been quite a while since making a good impression on a man made her nervous. But the stakes are higher this time: _this man_ matters. 

“I can’t wait. That’s all.”

Her heart is racing and she can’t stop grinning and she feels exactly like the secret goof that she is. She’s just a crazy girl who likes an amazing boy and she really can’t wait to see what happens. 

\----

J.J. looks up at the sound of knocking and sees Garcia positively bouncing in place in the doorway to her office. She’s carrying two coffee cups and races in without invitation and places one on top of J.J.’s paperwork like a trophy.

“Well done, Communications Liaison. You deserve an eight dollar coffee.”

“Huh? What’s going on, Garcia?”

“Well, there’s communicating, and I’ll bet that there’s a helluva lot of liaising going on too. And if there isn’t, I’m certain that there will be shortly.” Garcia wiggles her eyebrows above her pink rhinestone glasses and plops herself down in J.J.’s visitor chair.

“You mean, Reid and Prentiss?” J.J. pitches her voice lower and takes a slurp of her victory coffee. Garcia is absolutely right: if she did facilitate this, she totally deserves her caramel macchiato. 

Garcia nods furiously and all of her blonde curls bounce with her enthusiasm. “I spied them in the parking garage this morning… I thought that they’d have to be hosed down.”

“No _way!_ ” Garcia’s excitement is contagious and J.J. suddenly feels sixteen again. “I mean, he seemed to bounce back from our fight a few weeks ago pretty quickly, but I didn’t think it was because he’d _finally_ straightened this mess out with Emily…”

“Well, it seems as if he’s embroiled in a delicious new mess these days.”

“How did they look?” Garcia gives her a scandalized look. “You know what I mean, P.”

“In a word: intense.” J.J. watches with glee as Garcia mocks fanning herself for effect. “I always knew that Emily was a hot tamale, but who thought that Reid had it in him?”

“If there’s one thing you learn in the profiling business it’s to never underestimate the quiet ones.”

“Oh _God_ , I’m so tickled, I could scream…”

“Don’t do that.” J.J. smirks against her coffee cup.

“I just hope that they don’t do anything stupid.”

“I think the odds are against that, but then again, the odds were against them getting together in the first place, so, who knows?” J.J. raises her cup and waits for Garcia to knock it with her own in a toast. “The thing is that intelligence has nothing to do with success in love - we’re all hopelessly equal in that respect. They have as good a chance as any. Maybe better than average considering what idiots they were about it to begin with…”

“Who’s being an idiot?”

They both look up and see Prentiss leaning against the office doorway with a smile of curiosity. Garcia acts as if she’s just sat on a tack so J.J. has to come to the rescue.

“Uh… Anderson. He’s playing it too cool with some new agent he likes in White Collar Crime. Basically, half the men in this building are idiots when it comes to women.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’d have to agree with you there…”

J.J. spies a smudge of cover-up on the inside of Prentiss’s collar adjacent to a slightly darker mark on her neck. J.J. smiles and takes another slurp of her victory caffeine; Prentiss is always immaculate when it comes to her make-up, except when it can’t be helped, of course. She straightens and her collar hides the mark altogether, as if it never existed in the first place. J.J.’s gaze flicks to Garcia and it’s clear from the way she’s fussing with her skirt that she has seen the mark as well, and that she’s having a hard time containing a new wave of glee. J.J. rises, collects a few files and then heads out into the hall with her friends in tow.

“So, Emily, what about you? Do you fancy any of the local idiots?”

“Nope. I’m sticking with what I know for right now.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It’s not.” Prentiss says authoritatively and Garcia makes a beeline for her tech den before she loses what remains of her control. “What’s with her?”

“It’s Garcia - it could be anything.” J.J. hides a smile.

They saunter into the conference room for the morning briefing and Reid turns and greets them both with a sunny grin. J.J. has to stop herself from laughing out loud when she glimpses the upper crest of a bite mark peeking above the collar of his dress shirt. It’s in almost the exact same place as Prentiss’s. 

What a pair, she thinks. She supposes that she can let them believe that they’re fooling everyone about what they are doing, since they’ve only just stopped being stupid about denying it in the first place. When smart people play at being clueless, you have to take revelation in baby steps.


End file.
